Elster's Folly eBook

“There are times,” she sobbed, “when
I am tempted to wish myself back in my father’s
house!”

“I cannot think whence all this discomfort arises!”
he weakly exclaimed. “Of one thing, Anne,
rest assured: as soon as Edward changes for the
better or the worse—­and one it must inevitably
be—­that mischief-making old woman shall
quit my house for ever.”

“Edward will never change for the better,”
she said. “For the worse, he may soon:
for the better, never.”

“I know: Hillary has told me. Bear
with things a little longer, and believe that I will
remedy them the moment remedy is possible. I am
your husband.”

Lady Hartledon lifted her eyes to his. “We
cannot go on as we are going on now. Tell me
what it is you have to bear. You remind me that
you are my husband; I now remind you that I am your
wife: confide in me. I will be true and
loving to you, whatever it may be.”

His look was haggard; his voice bore a sound of anguish;
he clasped her hand to pain as he left her. Whatever
might be his care, Anne could not doubt his love.

And as he went into the drawing-room, a smile on his
face, chatting with the curate, laughing with his
newly-married wife, both those unsuspicious visitors
could have protested when they went forth, that never
was a man more free from trouble than that affable
servant of her Majesty’s the Earl of Hartledon.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

EXPLANATIONS.

A change for the worse occurred in the child, Lord
Elster; and after two or three weeks’ sinking
he died, and was buried at Hartledon by the side of
his mother. Hartledon’s sister quitted Hartledon
House for a change; but the countess-dowager was there
still, and disturbed its silence with moans and impromptu
lamentations, especially when going up and down the
staircase and along the corridors.

Mr. Carr, who had come for the funeral, also remained.
On the day following it he and Lord Hartledon were
taking a quiet walk together, when they met Mrs. Gum.
Hartledon stopped and spoke to her in his kindly manner.
She was less nervous than she used to be; and she and
her husband were once more at peace in their house.

“I would not presume to say a word of sympathy,
my lord,” she said, curtseying, “but we
felt it indeed. Jabez was cut up like anything
when he came in yesterday from the funeral.”

Val looked at her, a meaning she understood in his
earnest eyes. “Yes, it is hard to part
with our children: but when grief is over, we
live in the consolation that they have only gone before
us to a better place, where sin and sorrow are not.
We shall join them later.”

She went away, tears of joy filling her eyes. She
had a son up there, waiting for her; and she
knew Lord Hartledon meant her to think of him when
he had so spoken.